The Closest Things

For a week now ... I've been writing about God.

I need a break.

I need comic relief.

Constant God is WAY too intense.

That's why nobody ever invites Monks ... or most preachers ... to dinner more than once.

ALL. GOD. ALL. THE. TIME. MAKES. FOR. WAY. TOO. SERIOUS.

I want to laugh.

I want to feel good ... hear great music ... dance around as I work ... laugh ... anticipate tonight ... lust my wife in the most sinful ways ... act out on every single one of those sinful ways ... not feel obligated, contrite or in need of forgiveness ... not worry ... and I really don't want to pray for anything.

I want to enjoy the life I've been given and I want to ... DO. IT. NOW.

Then a friend of mine posts on Facebook his wife has cancer and surgery's involved but they are hopeful and could we please pray.

"Hey God," I pray. "I need some time off. Three deaths in the last two weeks? I think I've met my quota. Cut us some slack. New cancer diagnosis is not helpful right now! And you know how screwed up the American Health Care system is and that just makes the cancer worse."

I look for happy songs on Pandora to lighten my mood.

"I think it's time we stop ... children what's that sound ... everybody look what's going down."

"Really? I say out loud looking at the sky.

Strolling into our bedroom there are provocative photos of Sarah on my bedside table which always make me feel better.

I bring them outside with me to wash myself in lust.

The thing about posting on Facebook is ... after you do ... your computer "pings" when somebody you don't know posts on the same page.

I'd sent my friends a post of "Prayers, "Good Karma and Love" after learning about her cancer because those are the nicest things I can think of to share.

My computer is suddenly a constant PING of sympathy to my friends with people exhibiting God-like behavior.

Holding my pictures of Sarah in the blue dress to my chest I say, "Hey God! We really could use a break. If deaths come in threes ... you've passed the quota."

"Because the night belongs to lovers," Pandora streams. "Because the night belongs to us."

"Now you talking," I pray holding the things dearest to me the closest to me.